Vigilante Club
by Christy3k
Summary: After doing the ficklet challenge, I got some good ideas for some one-shots; most of which are inspired by the wonderful folks that r/r my ficklets. This one is for DaringD who loves Chuck Palnick. Rated M for language.


Vigilante Club

a/n: After doing the ficklet challenge, I got some good ideas for some one-shots; most of which are inspired by the wonderful folks that r/r my ficklets. This one is for DaringD who loves Chuck Palahniuk (know mainly for Fight Club, but he has lots of great books) So Daringd this goes out to you.

The night was slow and Rorschach and I were in the basement of my home discussing the failed crime busters meeting. Rorschach knows my identity so I'm wearing pants and a tee shirt.

"Well that was less then productive. You know I never liked that comedian guy." Rorschach sat on the edge of the walk way, his legs dangling.

"Comedian is right, Ozymandias is naive hippy, lacks the charter to get the job done."

I turn to face the man, if you can say face when his is always covered, and stare for moment thinking.

"You know Rorschach; you have a very dark view of the word. I wonder sometimes why you even bother fighting crime; if there is no hope of redemption."

"Evil must be punished, thought you understood."

"I do, but my God man, I have to believe that there is good that is worth saving; worth protecting."

"Herm….thought you were more self aware then that…surprising"

My eyes narrow "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rorschach jumps down and walks over to me. He stands there for a moment as if he is sizing me up. He walks over to a crate and removes his trench coat, scarf and hat.

"I want you to hit me as hard as you can." I pinch the bridge of my nose under my glasses.

"Rorschach man I don't know what the hell you are on about, but I'm not goanna hit you."

Rorschach shoves me. "Hit me as hard as you can."

I'm getting mad

"What the fuck is wrong with you man, I told you I'm not goanna hit you."

Rorschach grabs a hold of my shirt and shouts "HIT ME!"

Instinct and adrenalin took over and I punch my partner square in the face. The smaller man went sprawling to the dirt floor. I shake my head while Rorschach stands up to shake off the hit. He is holding the right side of his face.

"Hit me in my ear, still ringing. Felt like a brick, good shot."

I start to walk towards him, "I'm sorry man, but seriously I don't know what you are trying …..oooph" Rorschach's fist is planted firmly in my gut.

"Might be down, but I'm not out yet. Goanna have to do better."

My eyes well up with tears at the impact. Rorschach is 5'6" and about 140 lbs soaking wet; but he is all sinew and muscle. The man hits like a damn freight train. I cough and struggle to force my lungs to take in the air that was just forced from my body.

Now I'm pissed. I placed my hands on my knees; slowly stand up and set my glasses on the shelf. I turn and bum rush Rorschach. I body block the man straight in the gut, knocking both of us to the ground. Rorschach immediately begins to wail on my back with his fists. I manage to throw him off my back and when Rorschach came at me, I throw a right cross. Rorschach is too fast and leans back to avoid the blow. He counters by throwing a kick to my face. I'm able to catch his foot, but forgot how acrobatic my partner is. Rorschach balanced his weight, jumped and kicks me in the face with his free foot. He rolls out of the fall and starts to get back up. I slowly raise myself up; like a wounded Grizzly. I shake my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears. I am Dan's screaming concussion. Rorschach is standing ready; in fighting stance. That little fucker just won't go down. I start toward him and go in for a fake right hook and nail him with a left. I punctuate this by ramming my knee into Rorschach's kidney. The man is doubled over on the ground, and I feel a tinge of guilt. I walk over and extend a hand to help him up. Cagey little bastard rolls up and rabbit kicks me.

"Son of a Bitch man; uncle, truce, whatever the fuck; just stop."

Rorschach kipped* up and walked over to collect his stuff. I'm a little punch drunk, short of breath, and I need an answer.

"Wait a minute, what the hell was that all about?" He continues to dress while he speaks.

"Fight evil because it exists; I have no delusions that someday my actions will bring about changes that start some peaceful utopia. This world is sick and diseased; sepsis has already taken hold. I'm just the guy cutting away the gangrene and staving off the inevitable." He shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared into the night. As I stood there dumbstruck; I realize that he had a point. Maybe vigilantes are nothing more than a bunch of overgrown kids putting on costumes in the name of justice to fill a void left by absentee fathers and single serving friends. That's not what is truly disturbing to me. What is eating slowly at the back of my mind is that I don't really give a fuck why I do it. As long as I can put on latex and bet the holy hell out of some deserving dough bag; I just don't care.

*For those of you who don't know, a "kip up" is when you get up from lying on your back by pulling your knees up to your head and push your legs down; forcing your torso up (you mainly see it in soccer). I was not sure everyone would know.


End file.
